


tried the sugar (but it don't taste so sweet)

by orphan_account



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Forced Orgasm, Kidnapped Graves, Lust Potion/Spell, M/M, Not Safe Sane and Consensual, Overstimulation, Snowballing, sex as interrogation, straight-up id fic be warned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-18
Updated: 2017-01-18
Packaged: 2018-09-15 15:11:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9241043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: i arrive in the fbawtft fandomgrindgraves: shippedsmut: writtensins: committedi am forcibly escorted from the internetDISCLAIMER: the majority of this fic was written at 4am, tipsy and unbeta'd. i may come back and edit later; i probably won't, though. WHO NEEDS GOOD WRITING WHEN YOU HAVE SMUT AMIRITE.((also fyi my facecast for grindy is mads mikkelsen! feel free to imagine whoever you want tho, it's your life man))





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [tried the sugar (but it don't taste so sweet) 中譯](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9841565) by [jls20011425](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jls20011425/pseuds/jls20011425)



> i arrive in the fbawtft fandom  
> grindgraves: shipped  
> smut: written  
> sins: committed  
> i am forcibly escorted from the internet
> 
> DISCLAIMER: the majority of this fic was written at 4am, tipsy and unbeta'd. i may come back and edit later; i probably won't, though. WHO NEEDS GOOD WRITING WHEN YOU HAVE SMUT AMIRITE.
> 
> ((also fyi my facecast for grindy is mads mikkelsen! feel free to imagine whoever you want tho, it's your life man))

Percival's lost count of how long he's been trapped in this portable dungeon - weeks, at least; months, possibly. The pain and hunger and humiliation all blend together into an unsettling blur.

Grindelwald's latest torture - a modified version of  _Cruciatus_ \- has been working on him for hours, at least. Percival won't give him what he wants, of course (the password to a small safe in the corner of his office); as an Auror, he's been trained to handle extensive pain without breaking. Still, the fact that he can handle it doesn't mean that it doesn't still fucking  _hurt._

As he grits his teeth and braces his forearms against the cool rock floor, trying his best to keep from screaming, the door to his prison creaks open, and a pair of polished black shoes walk themselves elegantly over to just beyond his head.

Percival cranes his neck up to see Gellert Grindelwald towering over him, looking disgustingly smug in Graves' own favorite suit and coat.

"Have you reconsidered telling me the combination, Percival?" he asks, an almost jovial tone to his voice.

Percival spits at him.

Grindelwald sighs cavalierly, wiping the saliva off his trousers. "No, I suppose not. That would be too easy, wouldn't it?"

"Fuck you," Percival spits, too wracked by pain to properly meet his eyes.

"I must say, I've tortured a great many people," Grindelwald tells him casually. "Quite few of them have been as obstinate as you, Percival. I will admit, it has been fun, but I'm afraid I really do need results, so I'm going to have to turn to somewhat... less-orthodox methods."

Percival tenses, bracing for the wave of hexes to follow, but Grindelwald only ends the  _Cruciatus_ and bends down to Percival's level, pulling a vial of pink liquid out of his breast pocket as he does. He pinches Percival's nose between two fingers, and when Percival's mouth opens, gasping for breath, he pours the potion in, covering Percival's lips with one strong hand before he can spit it out. Once Percival's swallowed, Grindelwald's eyes flash with satisfaction, and he's sent into deep sleep with a muttered " _Morpheo._ "

 • • •

When Percival wakes again, kneeling in the plush carpet of his own sitting room, his wounds have been healed, and he's been divested of his ragged, filthy garments and freshly washed (by a well-placed _Scourgio,_ probably; Grindelwald has never had much patience for doing things by hand).

He's also stark naked, and achingly, embarrassingly  _hard._

Grindelwald is still sitting in front of him; he's pulled up Percival's favorite armchair, and is watching his captive avidly through amused blue eyes.

"What have you done to me?" Percival growls, trying desperately to right himself.

"I'm glad you asked, dear," Grindelwald chuckles. "I had a bit of a flash of genius at work today. You see, as an Auror, you've been trained quite extensively to withstand pain. But I'm willing to assume that you have  _much_ less practice withstanding pleasure."

"It won't work," Percival grits out. "You're not going to break me with some- some stupid sex potion, Grindelwald."

"Won't I?" the dark wizard asks, smirking as he eyes Percival's body. "Well, I suppose time will be the judge of that. _Expanduntur_ ," he says lazily, waving his wand, and suddenly wet fingers are probing against Percival's entrance, slipping in one at a time to sound him out. 

After five minutes of the hex, Percival is gasping and rocking back down onto the invisible pressure.

"That should be enough preparation," Grindelwald says, and suddenly the fingers are gone, and Percival is achingly, achingly empty.

He waves his wand again, and Percival is crouching, legs spread wide. Another muttered spell, and something  _pops_ into existence beneath him - a large, wooden phallus, carved with intricate ribs and whorls across its surface.

Grindelwald waves his wand once more, in an odd, swooping motion, and mutters, " _Futuos._ "

Percival curses under his breath as his muscles begin to mobilize against his own will. He's familiar for this curse: mostly, he's run across unsavory wizards who've used it on no-maj women. He won't be able to stop... riding the thing under him until Grindelwald performs the countercurse. Percival's shaking thighs are already bearing him down onto the toy; he can feel the tip nudging against his rim - and oh Merlin, it's too big, it's not going to  _fit -_

And suddenly the head is inside him, and he's slipping down on the rest of it, legs not stopping until it rests all the way inside him.

Percival keens as the head nudges something inside him that makes the heat in his stomach almost unbearable.

"S-stop it," he pants out, looking pleadingly at the wizard across from him.

"Of course, Percival," Grindelwald purrs, faux-altruistic. "As soon as you give me the password, this can all be over."

Percival shakes his head, wordless; he can't, he  _won't._

In front of him, Grindelwald sighs, spreading his palms in a 'what-can-you-do' gesture. 

"Then I'm afraid you'll just have to lie back and think of MACUSA, dear."

• • •

Grindelwald goes to run errands and is out for hours, leaving Percival with absolutely no hope of release. When he comes back, Percival's come at least seven times, still helplessly bucking up and down on the toy beneath him.  

Grindelwald reseats himself in Percival's ornate armchair, drinking in the sight before him with dark eyes. "Now, don't you look lovely," he purrs, stretching out a hand to caress Percival's cheekbone.

"Please, " Percival pants, hating the weakness in his voice. "Please, let me s-stop."

"All right, darling," Grindelwald soothes, stroking a hand over his cheek. "Just tell me the passphrase, and this can all be over."

"N-never."

"Then I'm afraid I can't help you, Mr. Graves."

Percival can't help it - he cries, whimpering pathetically as his screaming muscles continue to work him rhythmically up and down, up and down.

Grindelwald hushes him soothingly, smoothing a hand through the sweat-matted hair at the nape of Percival's neck.

"All right, dear. You've done so well - come one more time for me, and then I'll release the spell. How does that sound?"

 One more time - Percival doesn't think he _can_. But his legs keep moving him up and down, and the toy keeps striking  _that_ spot in him, and finally he's so close -

But just as he's about to finally find release, a vice-like invisible grip surrounds the base of his cock.

Past words, he looks pleadingly up at Grindelwald, moaning out in disappointment to see the wand in his hand.

"Beg me," the dark wizard growls, eyes blazing with heat as he cups his own length in his hand.

Percival keens, too desperate to think. "P- _please._ "

"Say my  _name,_ slut!"

"Please, G-Grindelwald!"

The invisible pressure releases, and Percival shudders through his eighth orgasm, hips bucking helplessly on the toy. As he twitches, he's aware of a warm feeling on his face and chest - Grindelwald, painting him with his own spend. Percival can't even begin to think what kind of picture he makes right now - the dignified Director of Magical Law Enforcement, crouched on the ground, teary-eyed and shuddering and covered in come. At least it's finally over, he comforts himself, as Grindelwald waves his wand and performs the countercurse, before getting out of the chair to kneel down in front of Percival.

Percival is too weak to do anything but cling onto Grindelwald's shoulders as the dark wizard lifts Percival up and into his lap, settling back lazily onto the armchair.

He bites out a betrayed hiss as Grindelwald runs one finger down the length of his oversensitive cock.

"Y-you _said_ -"

"Oh, Percival," Grindelwald croons mockingly, tutting as his fingers begin to probe Percival's sensitive opening. "I said that after one more you could stop. I never said  _I_ would."

Hours later, after he's shuddered through his third dry orgasm on Grindelwald's huge, probing fingers, Percival finally cracks. 

"Thunderbird, all right? The password - it's fucking _thunderbird_ ," he sobs out, past all considerations of dignity.

Grindelwald's torturing fingers withdraw immediately. 

"That wasn't so hard, was it?" he soothes, reaching into his trouser pocket with his clean hand to produce a small vial of clear green liquid.

Percival gulps the antidote down greedily, not even waiting to take the vial from Grindelwald's hand. The relief is immediate: the fog clouding his mind lessens, and the tortuous heat in his groin finally, finally dissipates. 

For once, he isn't thrown straight back into his cell after the torture - instead, Grindelwald's careful hands dress Percival's quaking body in a pair of silk pyjamas and carry him to his own guest bedroom, where he's laid down on fresh, soft linen and painstakingly tucked in. Before he leaves the room, the dark wizard presses a soft, incongruously chaste kiss to the sweat-slick skin beneath Percival's ear.

"You did well today, Director," he purrs, in that rough, soft, maddening voice. "I have faith you'll be even more... accommodating... in the future."

The combination of his rough voice and the feather-light touch on his pulse point makes Percival shudder helplessly. The fact that it's not entirely a shudder of revulsion might be the most disturbing part of the evening.

**Author's Note:**

> title from 'the hurt' by diego boneta


End file.
